


catastrophe and the catalyst

by motorboats



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Multi, Other, Past Abuse, Pre-OT3
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-11 22:41:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 8,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29250123
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/motorboats/pseuds/motorboats
Summary: "I don't know if I want to be somebody's cosmic plaything," Crow tells them; the Traveler, unfortunately, doesn't really care what he or the Guardian wants.
Relationships: Osiris/Saint-14 (Destiny), The Crow/Osiris/Saint-14 (Destiny), The Spider/Crow (Destiny)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 26





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hi welcome to a series of loosely connected vignettes! i keep finding lore entries on obscure guns that either torpedo thousands of words i've written or absolutely justify the fucking feverdream pepe silvia levels of bullshit i've been thinking about so i'm just throwing this into the void. general idea is this takes place in an alt au where saint/osiris/guardian bring crow back and the darkness/light both take an interest in him and the guardian. 
> 
> set nebulously sometime during, and mostly after the latest season (season of the hunt) and WE'RE JUST OUTRIGHT IGNORING THE NEW SEASON WHEN IT HAPPENS BAYBEE i'm sure it's going to joss everything since i'm pretty sure canonically crow won't be getting his back blown out by saint in-game but i live in hope, you know?
> 
> anyway, to answer questions i know tags will bring up:
> 
> \- crow/guardian is referenced in a "they were fwb" kind of way. it doesn't impact endgame crow/osiris/saint.
> 
> \- this is going to be extremely self-indulgent which means: former ikora/cayde/zavala, with mentioned guardian/zavala/ikora (recent). drifter/eris, drifter/eris/exo stranger is also gonna feature. theoretically former petra/cayde and petra/uldren but WE'LL SEE, just know if i don't put it in the fic it's there in my heart 
> 
> \- any real Bad spider/crow (or...any other but lbr this is the most likely) content will be marked and either its own chapter or subsection or something, tagged. i'll try to tag for everything imaginable where i can but please let me know if i somehow miss any. i try to do content warnings for the big stuff (noncon, torture) but like...canon typical stuff is A LOT ALREADY and i'm not warning every time someone gets like, maimed or killed. 
> 
> IN GENERAL please consider this whole fic DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT because of spider/crow
> 
> \- timelines are fake, sorry. i have no idea when half of the destiny events take place.
> 
> thanks to paravin and zeteram for cheerleading & helping make this coherent

It’s after what passes for midnight on the Reef when the Crow finishes his latest meeting. 

Glint feels the cameras in Crow’s room activate as he eases through the door, shucking the Spider’s insignia as his first act upon entering. The motions are familiar, habitual, and don't seem to be limited by any injuries. Glint is allowed in this meeting (despite how much he resents the idea of needing to be _allowed_ where Crow is) but _Crow_ had asked him to stay outside, which never...really means anything good. Crow doesn’t want to talk about it which means Glint relies on what his sensors can tell him.

Heart rate: normal, a bit faster than usual but the hallway is long and Crow tends to walk quickly to leave the Spider after their meetings, when he’s able to walk afterward.

Heightened stress and anxiety: also normal, within acceptable deviation no matter how much Glint hates to consider any amount acceptable. Crow wipes sweaty hands on the discarded cloth and then sits heavily on the thin stack of blankets technically called a cot, eyes sweeping the room until they land on the camera. The camera would never pick up the way his heart rate flickers, his fingers twitching minutely, the tensing of his jaw. The small signs of rebellion aren’t worth the Spider’s time, not with the insurance policy slid under Glint’s plates, hot and sharp and heavy between the wires. The Spider may not notice, but Glint _does_ , cataloging all the individual indignities and signs of upset he can do exactly nothing about. 

“The Guardian arrives again tomorrow,” Crow says quietly, stripping off additional layers until Glint’s sensors are running over bare skin, cataloging the bruises pressed into the few soft spots Crow has: the dip of his wrists, the meat of his thighs, a fading series of scrapes on his back, leading below where his trousers hang loose. 

All survivable, not nearly as bad as it could have been, but Glint feels them like the bomb in his casing all the same. He’s aware of Crow at all moments, the shape of him, down to his very cells and the Light inside him _aches_ during moments like this. He could burn the bruises out of him, fill him with the Traveler’s Light, reknitting flesh whole again. He could, and then the Spider would take it as a personal challenge to resolve. Thus far his interest in the resurrection cycle has been purely related to the job; Glint would like to keep it that way as long as possible. 

Glint’s plates whir as he dips in closer to Crow cataloging the bruises with ruthless efficiency. He may not be able to stop all of them, but he can prevent them out in the field. That has to be enough, for now. 

“I can hear you worrying,” Crow flicks water at Glint's iris and then uses damp hands to rake through his hair, twisting it back into a messy knot. “This is a good thing.” Then, belatedly, gentler after Glint doesn’t respond, “I’m fine, Glint.” 

Crow's not by any stretch of the imagination, but it’s a kind lie. Crow can’t, of course, _hear_ Glint fussing. Awoken may have superior hearing even compared to humans, but Glint’s processor and internal components operate at a low enough frequency Glint’s pretty sure only other machines can hear it. The thought still translates well enough: subject change, please. 

“I know. It will be good to see them again,” Glint’s plates shift, rotating, the one closest to the bomb catching just the slightest bit, a little hitch of plates. Probably some bit of dust or sand or something; Glint will have to ask Crow to go over it later. 

Their visit is, objectively, a good thing. It’s why the bruises on Crow’s skin are fading, not fresh; there is only so much ugliness the Baron is willing to expose the Guardians and the Tower to. The Guardian and her Ghost are still too far out for his sensors to reach; even using some of the tech to boost his signal so he slides a little bit of light and code into one of the sensors Spider uses to monitor the Reef and nestles it into a subroutine. “They’re here to kill something or someone?” 

Crow tugs out his weapons and the kits to maintain them. It’s steady, mindless work; Crow’s body remembers what his mind isn’t allowed to and he disassembles the rifle on auto pilot, setting each piece out carefully. 

“How did you guess?” Crow’s lips tilt up faintly, sliding a polishing cloth along a thin piece of metal. It’s rhetorical; the Guardian doesn’t come to plant flowers in Spider’s garden. “Someone’s been stealing from the shipments into the port, but it’s not Glimmer. It’s ammunition; primarily, sniper and scout rifle. Baron Spider is unhappy with how long it’s taking to solve the problem.” 

Glint sifts through the records, intake for supplies and weapons coming into the Reef, and notes four different discrepancies, along with two sets of video associated; no faces, so they’re smart enough to manage that. The files are locked, but it takes minimal work to breeze past it and skim the files’ metadata.

It’s uncharitable, but Glint doesn’t quite care that the Spider is being stolen from, even if he knows it’s punishable by death. It _is_ odd that it’s only two types of ammunition and odder still that they’re taking it from multiple ports and locations but the actual inventory reports stay the same. Glint flags a few of them along with the next shipments coming in and then disconnects, bobbing over to where Crow’s using a tiny brush to clean out one of the connectors to the rifle. 

“I’ll share the list of locations to begin scouting when the other two arrive,” Glint says, marking the most viable locations on the map based on the amount of time it’d take to transport the stolen goods, both physically or via transmat. “A few boxes here and there? Awful lot of fuss for that.” 

Crow switches to a small leather kit, opening it up and pulling out the brush with one hand while holding out the other; Glint blips out and into his hand, blinking up at him. Crow’s always gentle when he does this; flipping back the casing where Spider had inserted the bomb, taking little, soft cloths along the rims and edges, cleaning out the sand and grit from the spots that make his panels catch. “The Spider doesn’t like it when people touch or take things that aren’t his.” 

Glint’s light dims, just a little at the response; he’s not wrong, they both know he’s not, but that doesn’t mean Glint has to like it. “Well. He can not like it all he wants. You were mine, before you were his.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i remember being on ffn and writing these teeny little chapters, getting older and being like UGH I HATE DRABBLE FICS and yet,,,,,,, here i am again 8)

“Another one?” Glint asks gently when Crow wakes with a ragged, choked gasp for air, clutching at the blankets underneath him. “You’re alright. We’re in Spider’s lair.” 

Not...quite the most comforting of responses he can give but tension bleeds out of Crow all the same and he lifts a hand from the blankets to curve around Glint’s shell, tugging him in to what passes as a hug when one of half of the hug doesn’t have arms. “Another one. It’s the same thing, every time.” 

Crow rolls; the ground underneath is hard, packed tight from years of people walking over it and the blanket offers little comfort but he doesn’t seem to notice. Crow’s body curves around Glint, until his body is spooned around the little Ghost, protective. “When the Cryptoliths are finished, maybe you and the Guardian can…” 

“I’ll ask her to take a look,” Crow cuts in, gentle, but firm. “There’s no way Baron Spider is going to let me go to the Traveler, and even less of a chance that the other Guardians will let me anywhere close when this is done.” 

That is, unfortunately, probably correct. The Traveler is as well protected as they can make it, given everything; Crow is unlikely to just be able to walk up to it. A finger traces along the wiring on the opposite side of Glint’s shell, idle, affectionate motions Crow barely notices himself doing. 

“It can’t hurt to ask,” Glint points out gently, leaning into the attention with a low, warm hum. “Maybe frame it as a positive to him.” 

“A positive,” Crow repeats dubiously, staring up at the rusted pipes above him. “That still doesn’t...actually get me to the Traveler.” 

“ _That’s_ a problem we can solve, though. Osiris has a ship! So does the Guardian.” Glint’s voice is a low thrum against his chest, comforting. “Between one of them we’re going to get _somewhere_.”

 _Maybe if I ask nicely enough_. Crow won’t say it out loud because Glint doesn’t need the weight of the words spoken. His hand curves a little tighter, body folding around his shell instead, until Glint’s low, steady thrum matches his heartbeat. “I guess we’ll see tomorrow.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tws: spider beats/abuses crow, but pretty typical canon violence (sorry crow)

“Maybe,” the Spider’s rebreather hisses as he leans forward, the bulk of him in Crow’s space, closer and closer until Crow is forced to stand within an inch or move back. Crow steps back, one, then two, and looks up, hands fisted tightly behind his back. “If you ask nicely enough, I’ll consider it.” 

Crow hesitates, wonders if he’d said it out loud last night. He knows the cameras are there, but he’s had to review the audio and visuals when researching theft from the Spider: they’re not the best. 

“Please,” Crow grits out, and goes to his knees despite the way it makes pain flare all up his side, the sear of Scorn flames still raw underneath his armor. They had been  _ successful _ and returned directly after; he’s done everything right, if he has to beg a little bit for the pleasure of it, he can do this. “I would— appreciate the opportunity.” 

The noise Spider makes is indication of his displeasure well enough; a scoff, half-muffled through the rebreather and a hand lifts, curves itself through Crow’s hair in a gesture of faux-affection. It lasts for only a moment, his hand twisting, gripping, forcing Crow’s chin up. Behind him, he can hear the sound of Glint popping out of transmat, shell spinning anxiously as Crow fights the urge to thrash out of the grip. “ _ Convince _ me.”

“Baron,” Crow tries again, hissing a strained breath between his teeth as Spider pulls him, his knees sliding over the packed dirt, straining against the urge to fight out of the grip. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what kind of convincing he might want, and it certainly doesn’t take Crow much to guess. Swallowing harshly, Crow plants his hands on the ground and fights against the grip — not to get away from it, but to bow lower, face nearly against the Spider’s boot. It works well enough, shockingly: the hand removes itself and the ache subsides as Crow stares at the dirt on his boot, breathing unsteadily, leaning into the hint of pain that makes his voice tremble. He needs something, a hook, a reason, something to incentivize it without giving everything away. “Baron,  _ please _ . The City has sent both Guardians to examine it—” 

The boot under him moves too quickly for him to react, even if he  _ would _ fight back. It connects with his face, white-hot pain erupting as he’s thrown back, jarred, gasping wetly as he stares at the pipes on the ceiling. Spider had kicked him: not a surprise, necessarily, but the ache of a freshly broken nose, loose teeth, is still unpleasant. Blood gathers in his mouth and Crow inhales, trying to spit only for his mouth to ache so violently he thinks he’s going to be ill. Bile rises up and Crow hunches in on himself, panting through an open mouth while blood drips onto the ground. 

“Not good enough,” Spider drawls, a long leg extending, boot tucking itself under Crow’s chin to raise his face. “I’m afraid it’s too early for my little bird to fly away so soon; who’s to say if he’d come back?” 

Crow sucks in a wet, shuddering breath and later that night, doesn’t respond to the other Guardian’s inquiry about if he’ll be joining. It’s answer enough.

* * *

“What is someone going to do with  _ sixteen bullets _ ?” the Ghost asks while his partner is frowning at the import manifests. 

“Presumably, shoot sixteen people,” Crow answers before he can stop himself; he cringes, but the Guardian stifles a laugh. “That’s what Spider wants us to figure out.” 

Easier said than done, it turns out. They rule out theft: it’s not efficient to steal ten to twenty bullets at a time. Someone skimming off the top, potentially, but Glint calculates how long it’d take them to even make enough Glimmer to buy one of the fancy bright blue drinks Crow downs when they’re allowed to venture to the lone bar. Six months, minimum, and that’s assuming they were unable to get caught for that whole period of time. Another unlikely scenario.

Another option floated, is someone is just...messing with Spider. That one seems plausible. Spider has enough enemies but it seems...insignificant, in terms of punishment or retaliation for any sins he could have committed. Maybe Spider just pissed someone off who is just exceptionally petty. 

In the end, they decide the Guardian will watch one port and Crow will watch another; it’s not a perfect solution, but short of any other options it’s the only workable one. It is, unfortunately, unremarkable; no one comes in or out, so when dawn starts to break on the Shore they return to Spider’s lair to regroup. Osiris needs their help with a Cryptolith again, which is almost a relief at this point: they’ll have something to point to if Spider asks what kept them so long. 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> remembering there's no way to get courier font on ao3 easily and screaming

“It’s inconsiderate, at best,” Ghost says between furious little bobs, avoiding the Guardian’s gentle hand trying to coax him close. “Every time? When he has — when the Vanguard High Command allows him to — the  _ nerve _ !” 

Glint exchanges a look with Crow and flits between them while he finishes bandaging himself up. 

“Who could they be talking about?” Crow asks with just enough faux-curiosity in his voice that Glint thinks it’d pass muster if Spider pulled the audio logs. Glint doesn’t respond, just in case, but bumps lightly against Crow’s fingertips on the way by to meet them. 

“Hello! Is something wrong?” 

The question is for Crow’s benefit; the exchange of information between the other Guardian’s Ghost and himself is rapidfire and satisfies everything Glint wants to know about what happened. They’re irritated because when they use the transmat to get back, it’s always a fair bit away from where they need to go which is often, back to Spider. Spider, who controls the transmat ports, meaning he’s making them walk the extra distance most likely to assess level of success, threat, or anything else by the cannon fodder outside. Petty. 

“I hate bombs is what’s wrong,” the Guardian mutters, leaning heavily on one of the stacks of scrap piled up in the room, jumping when it shifts at the addition of her weight. Her Ghost tilts and then forwards another bit of data; the leading line of code indicates  _ GUARDIAN DEATH  _ so Glint doesn’t look into it any further. Ghosts don’t, generally, look at the records of deaths of partners not their own; it’s not a  _ rule _ so much as it is just a kindness. It’s enough to see the cause of death: explosion. 

“Ah,” Crow winces but not due to the pain this time. “He’s putting bombs in the loot chest in the hall again?” 

“There’s something to be said for not taking things that aren’t yours,” her Ghost says nonchalantly, eye wide, innocent when she levels a finger at him, unimpressed.

Crow laughs like he’s surprised at the sound and the Guardian whirls on him. “Wait, again? You didn’t think to mention he’s putting bombs in them?” 

Glint runs through dozens of potential outcomes in the span of the Guardian finishing their sentence and Crow registering the question. Four are the most likely potential options. In one, the Guardian simply laughs and throws their hands up, they move along like it’s nothing. In another, the Guardian is mildly annoyed and tells them that they need to warn if they come across it. Crow is contrite, they move onward. 

The third, and worst, is also a stretch. The other possible outcomes Glint can calculate because he has a great deal of data on the Guardian and her Ghost to begin with. The worst option requires data or visuals of her attacking Crow, and those don’t exist. There is no shortage of footage to draw from the other Guardians, though. 

_ Crow laughs like he’s surprised at the sound and the Guardian whirls on him. “Wait, again? You didn’t think to mention he’s putting bombs in them?”  _

_ Deflection, apology. The blow comes before Glint can warn, before Crow can stop it; he’s not expecting to be struck. The other Guardian hasn’t ever showed over signs of aggression, but there’s always a chance, a risk. Glint hadn’t been watching and now — _

Crow is sheepish, but not scared, fiddling with the ragged edges of his cloak. “I didn’t expect you to open the loot chest. Spider wouldn’t keep anything good out in the open. He keeps his treasure under lock and key.” 

“It’s  _ right _ in the hall!” the Guardian groans, dramatic, lifting her hand to strike Crow’s shoulder. Glint moves before the thread finishes processing in all the different permutations; the threat assessment is minimal given the Guardian’s prior behavior, but all the same: he hovers in front of Crow’s face, ready to retaliate if she strikes, no matter how unwise that is. In the end she does reach out and land her fist against Crow’s shoulder, shaking her head. “It’s practically begging to just be  _ checked _ .” 

“I’m afraid he doesn’t give us access to the calendar where he plans what days the chests will be trapped. The moment he does, we’ll let you both know!” 

“You think he keeps it on a calendar?” The Guardian’s voice is conspiratory rather than angry and when she leans in, Glint doesn’t detect any hint of threat in her body language. “I thought it was more likely to just find an extra bomb somewhere and stick it in there.” 

“Baron Spider doesn’t abide inventory miscounts,” Crow says with such grave seriousness it sends the Guardian into peals of stifled laughter. Their shoulders jostle together affectionately, and Glint watches the way Crow tenses and settles just as quickly. There’s still the instinct to reach for a knife, to fight against some unseen threat but it’s less when the Guardian is around and that’s...a relief.

Her Ghost dips over to visit without their Guardians overhearing. 

_ Ghost: Spider offered anything she wanted in his collection. In the lair. Once we finish the Cryptoliths.  _

_ Glint: I am aware. Don’t worry. Crow already mentioned he’ll let her know where all of the rarest items are. We think Spider’s probably going to move all the really good stuff. But that’s okay! They’ve been working together long enough; he knows what she would be interested in. _

There’s a scramble of code like Ghost can’t figure out what he wants to say, how he wants to say it, or the data he wants to give so Glint gently threads a line of Light to him to widen the connection. 

_ Ghost: No  
Ghost: That’s not  
Ghost: That isn’t why.  
Ghost: I understand why he pretends but we’re aware. Not of all of it. We won’t...ask. Here. _

**Nessus - 04:23:15**

__

“He gives me the creeps,” she says quietly over a torn-open pack of dubiously-labeled granola. “Outside of the whole… criminal empire thing. The way he talks about you was bad enough.  _ Little morsel? _ But Crow? This is all  _ after _ collecting dead ghosts.” 

Ghost bobs closer to her, tucking under her chin with a low hum. “One catastrophe at a time, Guardian.” 

Osiris actually looks up from his work on the piece of Hive magic. “The words necessary evil come to mind. The Vanguard do not impose their will everywhere, Guardian.” 

“I  _ know _ that!” Ghost presses against her a little tighter and her voice softens, exhaling angrily. “I know that. But it’s not right. He should be with us. With the other Guardians.” 

Osiris keeps working, but it’s clear he’s listening. His Guardian admires that about Osiris, how he doesn’t waste words, or movement, how she can trust his advice even if she doesn’t always follow it. “It will take time and care to untangle the spider’s web from him. You won’t have the backing of the Vanguard or the City. Too many lives depend on the careful balance we have now.” 

“I know. I know.” Her hands rake through her hair, fisting and tugging at it in frustration. “But am I just supposed to do  _ nothing _ ?” 

“I never said that.” Osiris considers her a moment. “The Spider operates on trades and barters.”

She’s quiet for a long time in turn, petting her fingers over the new slopes of his shell, familiarizing herself with them. “If it’s a deal he can’t back out of…” 

Osiris hums, and Ghost’s Guardian goes quiet, contemplative, and begins to plan. 

* * *

**EDZ - 02:10:19**

“There’s something wrong.” 

“Something?” Ghost ventures; the voice is decidedly not Glint’s, despite the perspective which is momentarily jarring. “In...a general sense or something specifically?” 

“...Both? But I meant with Crow. Spider. He put a bomb inside Glint! And then bragged about it to us. Crow was right around the corner! And then —” She throws herself back onto her ship’s cot with a frustrated noise, groping for the pillow. Once her hands find it, she mashes her face in and yells into it, mostly muffled. “I know the Vanguard won’t listen.” 

“They’ll want proof,” Ghost agrees quietly, dipping closer until he bumps against her shoulder, leaning lightly against her. “Crow is too skittish to give him up and Glint is effectively a hostage.” 

From the pillow, half mumbled, “Who do we know who can defuse bombs?” 

“...Us.” 

* * *

**Luna - 09:01:22**

“Osiris wants us to help.” Ghost offers and the Guardian does noticeably perk up from where she’s standing naked in a pool of water up to her chin, her coffee heating on the dying firepit’s coals. “We could deliver Eris’ message at the same time. We have Spider’s invitation.” 

The disgusted noise is merited. The Guardian dips down under the water and rinses the suds from her hair, coming up with another even louder, more frustrated noise of disgust. “Did he mention Crow? How he’s doing?” 

_ Guardian. We could use your assistance no later than the date and time attached. It is not an emergency.  _

“ _ So _ much detail in that,” she mutters, digging through her belongings to grab the comb buried away. One more dunk and then she rises, twisting water out of her hair with hurried movements. “Well. Let’s go.” 

* * *

**The Tower - 19:26:10**

“ _ Nothing _ ?” Saint-14’s voice is already loud to begin with, but incredulity makes it even louder, echoing against the walls as they leave the tower and head down the long road leading into the City. 

“Nothing!” Ghost’s Guardian is indignant, walking so quickly it’s a borderline trot or jog at this point just to keep up with Saint’s long gait despite her much shorter legs. “He’s supposed to be a Guardian, but he’s not, so they can’t take action, because the Spider is  _ technically _ an ally.” 

“He is a ruler in his own right and the Vanguard would rather avoid a war if they dispose of a king.” Saint crosses his arms, glancing down to the Guardian's tiny, furious form every so often and then to her Ghost as if to gauge the general level of distress. “I am not saying they are correct.” 

“I know.” Her voice is low, for once, despite how empty the road is. The icy anger is worse than the shouty kind; the icy kind is usually when people start getting killed. “They respect business deals, though. The Spider offered me anything in his lair if I do this. I’ve spent the last few visits looking at the stack of Enhancement Cores.” 

“We’re going to trick him!” Ghost butts in cheerfully. 

Ghost adds the Legendary Shards back into the transmat inventory and vanishes them, along with the stack of Helium Coils, other odds and ends the Spider trades in that the Guardian takes advantage of. 

“Ah!” Saint is somehow louder still, tugging out a bulging bag from where his Ghost stores it, handing it over to her. “This is why you had me hold them! You are going to ask the Spider for the little bird, aren’t you! So you pretend you do not have much to spend!  _ Very _ smart. A credit to the Light.” 

It feels like there’s a but coming, and she cuts him a look. Her anger seems to fade the longer they walk, down from a boil to a low, furious simmer. 

“There is one flaw in your plan,” Saint says bluntly and the Guardian’s lips thin. 

“What if Crow’s not in the room?” Ghost asks before his Guardian can respond, floating to linger in front of them, Geppetto sliding up next to him so they’re all walking close. “We’ve thought about that. She’ll ask for anything in the facility next. If he doesn’t agree —” 

“A very large if,” Saint agrees, well aware of the name the Guardian has built for herself doing the impossible. “For a very long time, I thought there was nothing that would turn the Vanguard against the people who wanted to protect it most. I was wrong about this. I understand there are… wrongs you must right in whatever way necessary. You will have support at the Tower as well. But it is a thin line you walk. I know you know this.” 

They walk in silence for a while longer and Saint looks as though he’s having a silent conversation with Geppetto over it, gesturing every so often in response to her low chirrups and questions. Ghost drifts over his Guardian’s shoulder, watching the horizon. 

“I’ve had to leave four times and it just keeps getting worse.” They make it out of the gate and after a beat of hesitation, she activates her helmet, Glint transmitting it out of inventory and around her face gently. “I’m not leaving without him, though. So we need to get him things. Here.” 

She shoves datapad up to him with a list on it: sparse, but well-meaning. Ghost has added a few extra items here and there to assist, but they’re really not sure what, if anything he has or what will be useful. “We requisitioned the basics but a lot of it needs upgraded for the level of work we’re doing. He’ll have to earn the best armor, but we can help, at least a little.” 

Saint gives him a nod in response. “Of course. We will help find the items on this list. They go in your ship when done, yes?” 

“Hangar 7,” Ghost chirps. “Thank you!” 

Hours later, the Guardian comes back to a veritable tower of supplies to transmat in to inventory for Crow later, from weapons to armor, to a sleeping bag, boots, all kinds of useful things in addition to what she buys. Ghost transfers it all away happily, and Glint withdraws from the piece of data a little unsteadily, Light blazing. 

_ Ghost: See? _

_ Glint: You’re going to bring us with you. The bomb--  _

_ Ghost: We figured out who does the modifications on ghosts and where they are during Spider’s meetings if we need them, but I believe we can manage well enough.  _

_ Glint: You’re going to  bring us with you. _

_ Ghost: Of course. There’s room in the quarters at the Tower, too. Just…don’t tell him yet. In case something goes wrong. If it does, well… just know we’re coming back.  _


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dead dove hours!!! tws for death, drowning, general spider/crow bad times

Spider’s been having him do stupid menial labor all day and he’s _over_ it, but that means exactly nothing because he’s still going to do it.

“We could move the cords,” Crow points out, gesturing at it. In each of the hallways, wires are strung like Dawning string lights at the Tower, dark and oily instead of festive. It’s a good suggestion; some of the wires hang so low in the bends and curves of the hall that it’s difficult to see past them the taller that you are. Crow slings the latest wire up over one of the entryway and then glances at Spider, uncertain. “There’s room in the side storage hall. One of the Guardians is going to get caught if they’re not careful.”

“We can’t move them.” Spider waves the thought away with a meaty hand, wheezing through his rebreather. “The wires stay.” 

The wires are dead: they’re not hooked up to anything electrical and Glint knows they _could_ move. He doesn’t point that out, not willing to risk the wrath of Spider who will take it out on flesh and blood, not wires and plating. Crow thinks to argue; his mouth opens and Glint bumps against him to keep him from saying whatever he was going to. Of course, _of course_ , it’s Crow so he doesn’t keep quiet, he says something else. “What are they for?” 

As far as questions go, it’s relatively innocuous; the Spider’s wrath isn’t incurred and the world keeps spinning. He gestures to the grotesque display of heads on a shelf, removed by his men and brought back like trophies, warnings against others who would try to infringe on his territory.

“Hope that you don’t ever find out. Now, move it to the _left_ ,” Spider leers, giving him a once-over that’s too long, too deliberate for Glint’s comfort. Crow dutifully shoves the display over a few feet to the left while Glint hovers disapprovingly behind him, whirring so loudly he’s certain the rest of them hear it over the awful scrape of metal on metal echoes. It’s absurd work, being Spider’s moving and delivery man; he’s been shifting the thing back and forth after carrying all of it in there for the last thirty minutes.

The cloak is gone, sleeves rolled up, sweat making strands of hair stick to his forehead in damp curls that he shoves back when the Spider appraises the latest placement. 

It is, given all potential uses of Crow’s time and body, one of the least objectionable. The fact is especially notable because over the last two weeks, the Spider has grown more and more violent, angry like his fuse is a hundred times shorter. 

Crow steps back and eyes the position and then frowns, realizing the positioning left does, objectively, look better, if they’re judging the optimal place to put a series of disembodied heads on a crude shelf. The view isn’t as obstructed by the loops and wires hanging down in the curves and bends of the tunnels to Spider’s den; it means when one walks down the hallway they see the arrangement right away. 

“I’m sure the Guardian is going to be thrilled,” Crow hooks his finger against a leather wrap around his wrist, toys with it and leaves it still, shoving a hand back through his hair rather than tie it back. It’s a casual statement; one born from the friendship he and the Guardian have been forging between hunts. Thoughtless.

Glint realizes before Crow does. Measures spite in the shift of Spider’s weight that says _aggression,_ in the narrowing of eyes, the faintest hint of his arms as he braces himself. A strike. 45 degrees, not hard enough to damage, but enough to bruise, to knock Crow to the ground. Glint hopes that’s what happens: the strike takes him by surprise, Crow is knocked down and Spider’s rage is sated without any further worry. 

The problem is the Cryptoliths. The Guardian. The last few months of building Crow’s confidence and speed and skill until he’s a terror in his own right. After countless Guardians’ knives in his back, his front, after Osiris, after the Guardian’s sparring matches, well-intentioned, if brutal. 

Spider lifts a meaty hand and backhands Crow with intent instead of his usual apathetic swipes and Crow _moves_ , faster than he thinks. Muscle memory. Glint watched it save both their lives more than once and in this moment he wishes Osiris had never set foot on the Shore. Crow’s hands lift and there’s a knife in it, a knife Spider’s hand slams against during the backhand. Crow’s arm braces the other, and for a moment they both stare at Crow’s knife shining with Spider’s blood, Crow bracing the weight of the strike away from him. 

_Oh, no_. Glint freezes, as does the rest in the room before all of the lances are leveled directly at Crow, who hasn’t moved, frozen as he realizes. 

“Oh,” Spider _purrs,_ slinking out of his throne with a grace that is jarring compared to how he generally comports himself. “Oh, little bird, what a mistake you’ve made.” 

The knife dissipates in a shower of Light and sparks and Crow goes to his knees in a heartbeat, low, small against the ground. “Baron Spider, I didn’t mean— it wasn’t intentional.” 

“What’s the point of having an Enforcer who can’t manage their weapons?” Spider asks, walking a slow, deliberate circle around where Crow is trembling on the ground, forehead pressed tight against the dirt. “An Enforcer, who would turn his blade against the _only one_ protecting him from the outside world? The only one kind enough to take him in, rather than leaving him to the cruelty of space, hmm?” 

“Spider,” Crow tries again, yelping when he feels a hand gather at the back of his shirt, pulling him up like he’s a small animal being scruffed. There’s no fight in him this time. “ _Baron_ , it’s, it’s proof of how hard I’ve worked to—” 

“Proof,” Spider purrs as he’s settled back in his throne, waving in two of his men who are holding something, a tub, a basin, which they set next to the stack of heads. Crow’s breathing is soft and shallow, light with panic as the water sloshes over the edge. “Guardians love to talk about _proof_. Proof of theft, proof of a plot. Intangibilities. The only proof is _action_.” 

Crow is bodily dragged over to the basin and Glint has a split second where he’s watching and then someone grabs him out of the air and tosses him at the Spider. Long fingers curve around his shell, tight to the point of metal grinding and Glint watches as Crow’s head is pushed under the water unceremoniously. 

It’s just a point being made. He’ll hold Crow’s head under a little and then release him and Glint will be furious and sad but they’ll move past it. After twenty seconds, Crow’s thrashing increases, hands scraping over the sides of the basin, the table, rocking it so fiercely the piked heads threaten to tumble off.

“Baron Spider,” Glint tries, shell twitching ineffectually against the grip. “He never intended — he would never—” 

“Better to make sure,” Spider tilts him so he’s focused on Crow’s thrashing, rattling him when his iris closes, trying not to watch. “I like _proof_ as much as intent. Meaningless. Lift him.” 

Glint can’t quite sigh in relief but he feels it all the same as Crow is dragged out of the water with a horrible, wet, rasping gasp, sagging against the grip. Spider waits for him to gain his breath back, shivering, panting breathlessly. “Keep this in mind, little bird. If you ever raise a weapon to me again, what I’ve done today will look like a kindness.” 

“We’ll— of course, Baron Spider, we’ll remember it,” Glint tries to strain free of the grip, but Spider won’t release him and so he tries again. “The Guardian arrives tomorrow and we’ve still got so much to do— the lesson is—” 

“The Guardian arrives tomorrow and the lesson isn’t finished,” Spider lifts his hand and lets it fall against the throne, hard enough the metal of it clangs against his shell, jarring, disorientating. One of his other hands twitches and Glint watches Crow have a moment of recognition for what’s going to happen before he’s shoved under again.

Ten seconds. Twenty. Glint doesn’t know if it would be better or worse if he struggled at this point. Crow doesn’t want him to interfere, he knows this, but— “Baron, please. You’ll kill him.” 

Spider barely looks at him: the few responses he’d gotten already were more than Spider says to him in a week. “Hold him down until it’s finished.” Then, Spider’s glowing eyes turn to Glint’s, steady. “Revive him when it’s done and then start over. The Guardian isn’t due for another fourteen hours; we’ll see if that’s long enough to learn the lesson.” 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> genuinely the funniest thing out of the new crosiris content is that it's like "CROW'S NEVER BEEN DRUNK" despite there being a prior lore entry about them drinking. it's obviously entirely possible they didn't actually get drunk since two fully grown folks drinking a bottle of wine is not the most effecient, but lmao

Drowning repeatedly is the last time Crow dies at Spider’s hand for years. The insane Guardian makes her demand of the Spider, and somehow, _somehow_ , he doesn’t fight her on it. He acquiesces, and abruptly he is no longer the Spider’s Enforcer, the Spider’s Crow, he’s just....Crow. 

The Guardian cuts the leash Spider holds on him, but more than that: when Crow sheepishly follows her back to the ship that night after being rather unceremoniously ejected from Spider’s lair, she doesn’t seem bothered at the imposition. 

“We planned for this!” Ghost says cheerfully as her ship hydraulics hiss and the storage crate pops open. “Saint-14 helped us gather the supplies.” 

“The supplies” feels a little like an understatement as she starts handing him items and Glint starts flitting them away into their inventory. A sleeping bag, thicker and warmer than the one stashed away in the EDZ. Multiple pairs of clothes that _aren’t_ armor, socks so thick his feet won’t ache in his boots after a long day. _Snacks_ , even, rolls of dried fruit, bags of jerky, meal kits that he can eat fast and quiet if he needs to. Glint inventories as fast as possible and is a loud, happy hum next to him. 

“ _More_?” Crow manages, strangled as she digs through her own inventory, poofing another stack of cookies into her hands and then into his. “How many did you _bake_?” 

“You do _not_ want to know,” Ghost answers dryly. “She made you the most, though.” 

“Shut _up!_ ” the warlock hisses after the startled bark of a laugh she lets out. “Stop helping! No one else was stuck with a _criminal empire kingpin_!” 

Crow listens to them bicker with half an ear but mostly, just tries to wrestle with the idea that Guardian made him the most out of all of the different people she was making cookies for. Glint dips in close and nudges at his hand gently, Crow petting over him gently in response. “Thank you.” 

She’s _also_ brought fancy snacks from the City, they find out later. Osiris stops by that night, landing his ship a small distance away when they’re a bottle and a half into the supplies. He doesn’t come any closer, doesn’t stop by, just parks his ship and sets up his work on the Hive rituals. It’s odd but not unwelcome knowing he’s close, but it’s only at the end of the second bottle when the Guardian has unsuccessfully thrown every single one of Crow’s knives that she comments on it.

“He _could_ come over,” she yawns, sprawling back against the stack of supplies her sleeping bag is tucked against for some coverage. “He does this every time.” 

Champagne, Crow learns, has a similar effect to wine and it’s really quite good with the cheeses and meats she’d brought, paired with fresh, fluffy bread. He’s sleepy and warm and _full_ but more than that: between Osiris and the Guardian—even _drunk—_ he’s arguably the safest he’s ever been. 

“Leaves his ship a little ways away?” Glint asks, briefly flitting high enough to scan over him, the flickers of Hive energy he gives off like miniature black and green flares of darkness. “He’s probably still working, right?” 

All eyes turn toward Osiris’ ship as if they can see through the layers of metal to what’s inside. 

“I don’t...really know what he does when he’s not working?” the Guardian says with dawning realization. 

“What do people...do when they’re not on missions?” Crow asks, like that’s not the most heart-wrenching thing he could possibly ask, followed by the realization on their part that they don’t...really have an answer to that, either. 

“We’ll let you know when we figure that out,” Ghost replies, dry. 


	7. Chapter 7

“It’s a sight every time,” Osiris says unnecessarily as they skim the clouds and then he takes them under. It’s not the trajectory Glint would take; they’re taking what could be called the long route, when Glint  _ knows _ Osiris has flown this hundreds of times. It’s only when Crow sucks in a sharp, shocked breath  _ not _ from fear or pain that Glint understands. 

The city with its bright lights, the sunset casting a soft, pink and purple glow against the white of the Traveler framed in the background. Glint’s seen the old Golden Age paintings, has records of a great deal of art and understands that it is, objectively, breathtaking. That’s not the part he focuses on, though. No, his focus is on Crow, his face almost pressed against the glass looking out, drinking the sight in. 

“I didn’t realize it was so big,” Crow says under his breath, ducking under his hood when Osiris exhales quiet and short, a borderline laugh. 

“The Traveler? Or the City?” Osiris asks, daring to look away from piloting just to get a glimpse of Crow’s face, his hood hiding the warmth of his cheeks. 

“Both,” Crow says, and kicks at Osiris’s chair, amused despite himself. Under his hood, Glint lets himself sink into the folds of clothing, hooking the tip of his casing there so he’s curled in the scoop of it against Crow’s neck. 

It’s incredibly kind and Glint lets it go as long as he can before he finally has to bring it up. “Osiris. Zavala and the others; they’re aware, aren’t they?” 

“Of course.” Osiris’ attention is focused on landing, ostensibly; Crow’s paying attention but he wouldn’t push Osiris as hard as Glint would. “Saint took care of everything.”

“Everything?” Crow asks, frowning between the two of them. Glint shifts out of existence a moment and runs through a thousand ways this conversation can go, and then pops back a second later, facing Osiris. This is what auto-pilot is for.

“Everything meaning the new Guardian orientation?” Glint presses. 

“Orientation?” Osiris’s eyebrows raise. “That’s...generous. The Tower was made aware he would be here. The Young Wolf offered her quarters’ spare room until you obtain permanent accommodation.” 

“Great.” Crow’s head thunks back against the chair, fingers touching to Glint’s shell when he hums, attempting comfort. It’s not ideal, but Glint had read the reports of the damage to the room Crow had meant to be assigned. “I can handle it.” 

“You shouldn’t have to,” Glint mutters with a final long look at Osiris. He blips back into the space at Crow’s collar, settling in unhappily but allows Crow to fold a hand over him gently. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i wish bungo loved ikora as much as i do.

The abuse is one thing. Crow can manage that, learns how to never stand too close to ledges, learns that if has to, making certain he can triple jump while on Tower grounds saves Glint the trouble of rezzing frequently. They’re minor inconveniences that mostly seem to make Glint upset, which irritates Crow more than any of the deaths. 

Those interactions are bothersome but so consistent he barely registers them most days. It’s offers of kindness from others that catch him off guard. Amanda’s cup of coffee waiting for him by Saint’s ship early morning training, so strong it burns his throat. Banshee’s quiet acknowledgment of bounties and tips on how to optimize his shotgun, Saint’s “accidental” duplicate lunches he brings to Crow.

He knows the names  _ Ikora, Zavala, Cayde-6 _ , and understands that Cayde-6 was the Guardian that whoever he was before had killed. It’s not hard to work it out after a while, even if no one wants to tell him or seems to believe him when he insists he doesn’t remember. Names are one thing, faces are something else entirely. 

There’s a high point on the tower: he has to take a long ladder up and it’s only from use of the bow so often recently that Crow’s arms aren’t aching by the end of it. Normally, no one else is there; the Guardians who harass him don’t bother to make it up this far or if they do, it’s Suraya, who tells him she’s content to keep the company of two birds this far up. 

One morning, after another nightmare, Crow makes his way up to the top of the tower, half-asleep despite the climb and freezes as Glint appears, flaring in alarm.  _ “Someone's here… _ ” 

Instantly more awake, Crow flicks the safety off his hand cannon and turns the corner, fully prepared to strike if he needs to, desperately hoping he doesn’t. The stranger’s hand grabs his arm as he tries to press through the door. A small foot settles into the inside of his, knocks one leg loose and one moment he’s standing. The next, he’s tossed across the ground like a ragdoll, landing with a loud  _ oomph _ as the stranger pins him and levels a sparkling handful of Void energy.

“What are you doing up here?” Her tone isn’t angry but it is firm; she won’t let him get away without answering but Crow really doesn’t want to lose this spot to another Guardian. Both of his hands remain up, teeth clenched as he debates his options. When his hood slides back, her eyes widen, lips pressing into a thin line. The Void in her hand boils. 

“I come up here sometimes!” Crow swallows, throat clicking, heart pounding fiercely in his chest. “Normally there isn’t anyone here.” 

“Ms. Ikora!” Glint flits into view, bouncing to a stop in front of them, fluttering his shell anxiously. “Ms. Ikora, he’s telling the truth. He comes up here when he can’t sleep —”

“ _ Glint _ , be careful!” There’s audible fear in his voice now; Glint’s gotten more cautious just as Crow has, but only sometimes. Glint only appears if he’s certain the Guardian is safe, usually, lest they risk a Guardian deciding they’re going to a more permanent revenge into their own hands. “Don’t  _ touch  _ him.” 

Ikora’s face twists, the Void bleeding out of her hand and after a long, slow moment she turns to Crow and reaches a hand out to help him up. “I’m not going to hurt your Ghost. We need all the Light we can gather.” 

They’re high up. This far, he’d fall for a while and the  _ hitting the ground _ part isn’t the worst, it’s the  _ fall _ when it’s this high. Crow eyes her hand and then pushes back, scooting away and helping himself up, not watching the way her chin tilts, considering him. 

“Sorry. I didn’t realize—.” Crow reaches a hand out and scoops Glint over and away, protective, stepping back from her warily. “We’ll come back later. There normally isn’t...”

“Anyone here, yes, I heard.” Ikora’s still just watching him, steady, guarded. “I won’t bother with pretenses. I understand you did not pull the trigger that took my...friend’s life. It’s his face, though, and it’s a face I spent a long time memorizing in case— well. It doesn’t matter. The Light chose you; the Guardian, Osiris, and Saint-14 all speak highly of you.” 

Crow still doesn’t dare to move, not certain what she’s leading up to or if she expects that he’s supposed to say something. “I’m sorry. For what he— what he did. I really am.” 

Ikora’s expression is unreadable. “Thank you. You may not believe it but that does...mean something. Every new Light at the Tower is a relief, even if not all see it as one initially. Your patience as everyone adjusts is...appreciated.” 

Glint flickers into existence again, shell spinning in irritation. “It’d be nice if some of the other Guardians saw it that way.” 

“ _ Glint!”  _ Crow scoops his Ghost back and pulls on the thread of Light connecting them to tug him back out of the world while Ikora watches, lips thinning. “Sorry, he’s— he cares. A lot.” 

“Of course he does. He looked for his partner for a very long time.”  _ How unlucky to get saddled with you of all of them _ , she doesn’t say, kindly, but he hears it all the same. “I’ve heard rumors some of the other Guardians were unwelcoming.” 

“Nothing I can’t handle. Really.” Mortification burns hotter than any Solar damage; Crow heads for the ladder back down, tugging his hood up tightly to hide his face. “We’ll be going. It was. Uh. Nice talking to you.” 

Ikora watches him slide one foot and then the next onto the ladder and then vanish out of sight, reappearing far below, hopping from roof to roof in the dark rather than take the long way back. 


End file.
